Maybe I'm superstitious or whimsical or am able to make connections and a thesis about anything, but I really do believe in signs.  There are happy coincidences, and every once in awhile luck, and then there are moments that are just so directed to the unanswered or even un-asked questions in your heart that you just have to fully soak them in and etch them into your soul as a roadmap.  I don't think God is as silent as they say, especially if His heart is your mirror.  He likes to amaze us.

Tonight was the perfect ending to my 6 weeks of Family Med.  After all the missed chances I finally got to help deliver a perfectly healthy boy to two wonderful people who couldn't have loved each other more and who are going to love their son.  I got to see the awesome power that woman was designed to have to bring life, strength that she doesn't even realize she has.  And as the radio played "Mary Did You Know?" on the way home, reminded how Jesus came to us just the same way to give the ultimate gift only He could give.

Every day in clinic you see life and all the twists it can turn, but it would be a waste to always be waiting for the next destination and forget how full the present is.  I don't want to forget myself.  I want to grow, not change.  I want to find home by making a home - one of these days.

I don't know what 2017, or 2018, or the rest of the future holds, but I know my heart and when it is being pulled and I know when God is nodding, saying that 'This is good.'  With the audacity to be hopeful, I pray that these moments are reminders of His promises.

It's my official first activated day on this app... and it's already causing stress.  Does my profile sound stupid?  I feel so judgmental.  How can you pass on someone with just a few sentences and pictures?
Just how important is wording?  Do normal people actually do online dating?  Am I not normal?  What if the resident I saw on there sees me too?  Awkward all around...

Being in medicine seems to put up a quick barrier between you and others the moment it's mentioned (which is usually very quickly).  Part of me has always wanted that automatic, safe distance.  Part of me wonders if it'll keep me away from everyone.

Prayed with a patient for the first time today.  Not sure if it was exactly allowed (but don't think it's not allowed either?) but it seemed like she really needed it and she had faith, so I offered.  She was the type of patient who no matter what you tried, you would just be going in circles.  Nothing could really be done for her unless her spirit stopped hurting.  In her case, it was the most important part of her symptoms.

Goofy dogs that remember you like an old friend, and recognize and run to you from across the street while dragging their dog-walker along.

The wrench in your stomach when you're introduced by your weaknesses, or at least what others perceive as unfortunate traits, by someone that is supposed to know you well.

When you feel like you're waiting for something wonderful and painful and worth it that will never actually happen.

The glimmer in your eye when you realize that despite all your differences, you'd still trust your brother with everything.

As emotionally challenging this rotation has been, there are still little moments that show me the beauty and humanity of it.  Today, as I was sifting through the various disjointed electronic charts, I came across a small piece of information that might offer some comfort to the patient.  Immediately, she started crying - out of relief - and got just one more moment of peace in what seemed like a lifetime of sadness.  She was already on her way to getting better, but it wasn't just the meds - it was everyone around her that showed her that she was worth something, that they would not dismiss her, and that they cared.

I don't know if I believe in soulmates.  My mind conjures up too many possibilities and combinations of scenarios to think - out of all these people and possible life paths, all these language barriers and shores divided by oceans and time - that there has always just been one person meant to perfectly fit me.

I do know, or at least I do hope, that one day I will meet someone with which that question does not matter.  They will not be my absolute puzzle piece, but our hands will fit together.  My heart will have found a home, and it will not need to, nor want to, search elsewhere for an answer.

It's only day 2 of my outpatient psychiatry rotation, and my heart already hurts.  Not in a bad way per se, but I just want to hug each patient and shout out how much they are still loved.  How much there is still hope, and that it's never too late.  The good news.  But that's not my place, nor would it be helpful for them, and I know that in reality most people will not acknowledge God.  How can you tell someone living in a personal Hell that there's a deep rooted joy to be had?  I am told that the best we can do is to show them love and a safe place, but for me, it is withholding love if I am not able to share with them the truth that has the power to save them?  How am I to simply allude to and metaphorize Jesus?

I am the type of (future) doctor that wants things fixed, or at least resolved, and this is one area where we don't know how to fix things and only know how to mask them.  It is hard to see how much people have been deprived of love from their very beginning, how toxic legacies are continuing to perpetuate, and how difficult it is to break that cycle.  That scared child becomes embedded in a person's core that cannot simply be undone.  I feel so fortunate that my upbringing was whole and safe, but because my heart keeps screaming "This should not be so," it is as if I am not thick-skinned enough, or too naive, or that my softness is not how the "real world" works.  Basically they would say, "If you suffered as much as I have, you would not believe in God either."

As for the religion that my preceptor follows, I cannot help but see it as a search for numbness, and an escape from the precious gift that is now, and that there actually is always an unattainable goal leading to restlessness.  While it may help some people cope, they aren't being genuinely healed.  They are only finding peace in nothingness, and that is not life lived abundantly.

On the drive home, "Good, Good Father" played on the radio and the words rang so true - "I've seen many searching for answers far and wide, but I know we're all searching for answers only You provide."  I can't deny their suffering, but I pray that their hearts will turn and seek to be truly known.

It's my birthday today, and I know that I want to stay soft for the rest of my life.

Every day is a testament to this quote:

"Be kinder than necessary, because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle." - J.M. Barry 

The other day I met a woman whose guilt about her "sin" of obesity was preventing her from undergoing life saving surgery.  Apparently she was not a necessary referral to the hematology clinic.  The doctor had to leave the room for a moment to take a call, so I tried to use that urgent moment to get the patient to open up more; as she was able to let things out, including the core of her struggles with the issue, I was able to share with her my understanding about addiction not just being "in your head," and wasn't just a matter of lack of willpower, and was not just "her fault."  What I should have added, now that I think about it, was that sin often is sin because it hurts others, but sometimes it's because it hurts us.  Sin is supposed to kill us, yes, but it doesn't have to, because there is a way out.  We are allowed to ask for help, regardless of whether we deserve saving or not.  Anyway, by the end of the brief visit, I believe I saw the click of a switch in her eyes, and it was really amazing.

Little town, it's a quiet village; every day like the one before...

It's true, that you can fall a little in love with a stranger.  Standing in the same tiny shop where everyone word sounds as close and clear as if spoken face to face, you can learn 5 different things about someone without even saying hello.  Then the moment is over, and paths part ways, and you are still just as much strangers as before.

Small towns can leave you wondering too.  So much beauty can be packed into so small a space, and yet the grey sunlight only gives you glimpses at a time.  The sleepy air forces you to slow down to its pace and notice every detail, color, smell, and curve of the road.

Every time I have to move out, I'm appalled at how much I actually have, and how much I accumulated since last.  Maybe I should be on Hoarders.  sigh.

I don't think it serves us to embrace cynicism as though there's wisdom in it. - Nadine Smith


To my children I will say, "Fill your skin with kindness and find solace in your solitude.  It takes bravery to be kind.  But to be brave you will need to know how to stand for something even if you are completely alone." - Nikita Gill


But I've heard the tender whisper of Love in the dead of night. - 'Good, Good Father' by Chris Tomlin


June is wide-eyed and blushing, and I am squeezing raw lemons over my own heart. - freethepoets

We're apparently 1% of the population... which explains why I feel like such an outsider most of the time, why no one seems to quite understand.  We're the mediators, or according to some sources, the healers.

While everyone else seems to be crashing into each other as they go about life, I'm just trying to slide around the edges without doing any damage and maybe trying to spread a little sunshine if I'm feeling brave that day.  And when it's something I can't avoid and I get hurt, it's almost worse when someone apologizes.  I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't bruise so easily.  I'm sorry I always make people feel guilty.  They shouldn't have to worry about handling me so carefully; it's a lot to ask for.  I want to believe so badly that softness can be strength, but it's really hard to when the only one getting hurt is me.

I don't know if it's just the part of me that wants to redeem or re-write the past, but pediatric oncology is still on my list of potential specialties.  Maybe once I go out there into the wards as a doctor and not a bystander, it'll be way too much to handle.  But maybe the things that break your heart are what God has put on your heart to try and change.

Humans of New York has been doing a series at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, interviewing patients, their parents, nurses, and doctors.  Each is very poignant, but I study the doctor ones particularly carefully to see if I could or want to one day be the same.  This one especially gets to me, because at some point you ask the question - when is it worth it to stop fighting, and how strong must you be to let things go and just live, even if only for a little while?

“All doctors have those patients who sit on our shoulder. Their image is always with you. One kid will pop into your head every time you hit a wall– when you encounter a disease that is so unrelenting that you’ve exhausted all therapies and you’re still not even close. One memory will keep you going. It’s a different kid for every doctor. It’s hard to know why they stick with us. I remember one patient that had red hair just like my son. And I remember one five-year-old girl who made me laugh, because when I asked her how she was doing, she told me: ‘I don’t know. You’re the doctor.’ And then there was the boy early in my career who was born without an immune system. He’d already lost two older siblings to the same disease. He lived the first two years of his life in an isolation room with no windows, and his entire exposure to the world was through a black-and-white TV. We gave him a bone marrow transplant, and suddenly his immune system came online. And we took him for a walk in the garden. This boy who had spent his entire life in a windowless room. And a sparrow landed on a bush, and he pointed at it, and said: ‘Bird.’ That moment will always be with me.” 

It's just about that time in life when I can say that... everyone is getting married.

Not just distant relatives or the sons and daughters of family friends or people who used to be my church counselors, but my actual peers.  My old classmates (who I knew as very different kids) who are suddenly jumping the ladder, mature enough to make one of the biggest decisions of their lives.  Although I'm happy for them, I still always wonder... how did they find the one they love so soon, and how do they know that they're ready?  Just how?

I see all the pictures of people gazing longingly into each other's eyes and can't imagine being in that situation and being able to believe it was real.

Maybe if the right person came along at this very moment, I still would miss that opportunity because of all the flaws I still have to work on (that, eventually, would scare him away or make him regret his decision anyway).  Frankly, I don't know how to make someone happy.  I don't even know if I'm ready to be that happy myself.

Today I wore my long, vintage, wool ochre coat (the color of rich curry and 70's elegance), so long it almost reaches the ground.  I felt fabulous and warm, but yet light and fluid.

Everywhere I went today I was met with the busy chugging of trains passing through, both distant and afar.  Traveling back and forth like clockwork.

There was soft worship music all around - the grocery store, the coffee shop, the thrift store.  Here, people are trying to live in and share His love daily, it seems, with something so simple as a background hum that might catch someone's ear at the right moment, or a Wifi password, 'comeasyouare.'

And the rain.  Brief but heavy, sustaining everything in the Valley, washing away the dust.